“I don’t know how I’m going to manage to stay awake tonight,” Jeremy said as we walked down the stairs at the Imperial.
“You look exhausted. You should take a nap.”
“This city is taking its toll on me. I’m thinking of wiring my uncle and telling him to start planning what he’d like to do with my house once I’m dead.”
“After we’re done at the cathedral, you should take a nap. I will not tolerate you dozing during the opera.”
“Perhaps I’ll go to the Griensteidl. I could use some coffee.”
“Nap.”
“It’s useless to argue with you.”
“I’m glad you’ve finally realized that,” I said. We were about to exit the hotel when the concierge called to Jeremy.
“Sir! This was just delivered for you.” He handed my friend an envelope that Jeremy opened at once, squinting as he read it, his hand reaching up to his forehead.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“It’s Rina. She’s asking me to come to her at once. Something terrible has happened. She gives no details, only says that Harrison is involved and that she’s in immediate danger.”
“You must go to her,” I said, seeing the hesitation on his face.
“I can’t leave you alone. Perhaps we could go to her first?”
“We’ll get a fiacre. You’ll drop me off at the Stephansdom. Schröder won’t wait for me if I’m late, and I can’t risk missing him.”
“I won’t leave you alone.”
“I’m perfectly safe with Herr Schröder. Mr. Harrison’s the one who’s dangerous. You can escort me inside if you insist, make sure that he’s there, and then continue on.” I buried my hands deep in a fur muff as we stepped out of the hotel. The temperature had been warmer yesterday, melting a great deal of the snow, but a cold night had hardened what was left to ice.
“I’ll have the driver wait for you outside the cathedral,” Jeremy said, helping me into the carriage.
“And how will you get to Rina?”
“I’ll be able to hire another one easily enough. But I don’t want to risk you not finding one the moment you need it.”
Jeremy did not relax for a moment on our drive. He tapped his walking stick rapidly on the floorboard and was too distracted to meet my eyes. I squeezed his hand, surprised to find it trembling. When we reached the Stephansdom, he insisted on accompanying me inside. The church was eerie in its silence, the nave empty. The stream of tourists that ordinarily filled it must have been in search of more secular delights for the New Year. As we approached Saint Valentine’s chapel, I could see Herr Schröder sitting on a pew in the back row, head bent forward, clearly asleep.
“I think I’m safe,” I whispered to Jeremy, smiling. “Go, Rina needs you.” He kissed my cheek and rushed out, disappearing into the light that spilled through the church’s door when it opened. I turned back to the chapel and walked towards Herr Schröder.
“I do fear for your soul,” I said as I came up behind him. “First blasphemy, now sleeping in church. You really ought to—” I stopped. Something was wrong. He hadn’t moved at all when I started talking. I reached the edge of the pew and saw a thick liquid pooling on the bench, soaking his clothes. I felt light-headed, but stepped closer and saw that the liquid—blood—was coming from his throat.
I could not bring myself to look any further. I did not want to see his face. I turned and started to run from the chapel, calling for Jeremy, only to find my exit blocked.
“Is something wrong?” Mr. Harrison asked, gripping my wrist.
“Unhand me.” I’d never been so frightened, yet was surprised to find my limbs perfectly steady. It was as if my body recognized the gravity of the situation and was able to steady itself in spite of my spinning brain.
“Unfortunate that Schröder chose to end his life. But then, Vienna is a city of suicides.”
“You murdered him.”
“Can you prove it, Lady Ashton? It seems you’re having trouble enough trying to exonerate Robert Brandon. I shouldn’t waste my time on Schröder if I were you.”
“You’re despicable,” I said. The words rang hollow, not nearly strong enough. I looked around, hoping that someone would come to my aid.
“There’s no one here. Don’t think you’ll be rescued. I cleared the cathedral before Schröder arrived. Told everyone the church was closed until mass tonight. Locked all the doors after your friend left. You’re in a rather bad situation, Lady Ashton.” He stepped closer to me. “Give me the papers you brought for Schröder.”
“No.” I tightened my grip on the notebook I was carrying with the papers folded inside.
“You should worry more about your fiancé.” He wrenched my arm and tore the notebook out of my hand. “After I’m done with you, I’ll go straight for him.”
I know not how I managed to form a coherent phrase at that moment, only that suddenly I was speaking. “I know what happened at Mayerling. I know about the six shots, the bruises on the crown prince’s body. He struggled, didn’t he? Did you kill them yourself, or do you prefer to hire out your unpleasant jobs?”
“If you were a man, I’d call you out for saying that. As it is—” He raised his hand and slapped me. Pain exploded through my cheek. I could hardly see, but resisted the urge to bring my hand up to my face. “It was a mistake to tell me you know these things. I’ve nothing further to say. Now I only have to act.”
He started for me, a knife in his hand. “I think I may enjoy this.” My heart felt as if it would explode, my lungs paralyzed. The only part of my body over which I still had control was my eyes, and I kept them focused on my enemy. I steeled myself, certain that death was upon me. I’d like to say I faced it bravely, but the truth is, I was seized with terror, unable to form a clear thought. I tried to picture Colin’s face, wanting it to be the last thing I remembered, but I could see nothing save Mr. Harrison’s knife.
Knowing there was no hope of overpowering him, I decided to run. He grabbed for me as I started, managing only to get the sleeve of my coat. He jerked me towards him, hard, then let go as we both heard the sound of the church door opening and voices filling the nave. Three priests and two altar boys walked in, the oldest priest, keys in hand, wondering aloud why his cathedral was locked.
Harrison twisted my arm violently, then let it go. “I will come for you,” he said, then stalked away.
The instant he was gone, I started to shake. I ran towards the priests, shouting for help, feeling with every step I took that Herr Schröder was right behind me, soaking my clothes with his blood.
25 December 1891
Berkeley Square, London
Dear Emily,
What a Christmas this has turned out to be. When I woke this morning, Ivy was gone. She’d taken it upon herself to send for the carriage and set off for Newgate, bent on seeing Robert. She returned in tears. He’d refused, again, to come to her. But the warden, taking pity on her, offered to bring him a note from her. She sat in his office for nearly an hour writing him a five-page letter. The warden delivered it and waited for a reply. And what do you think dear Robert sent our poor girl?
“Happy Christmas to my darling wife.”
He’s lucky he’s behind bars. If I saw him, I would throttle him myself.
So it was a miserable morning. Robert’s parents spent the day with us—and heavens, they are deadly dull—but I suppose that’s to be expected given their son’s circumstances. Things did improve steadily over the course of the afternoon, though. Your cook stuffed us with an obscene meal—I don’t think I’ve ever had superior roast beef—and Davis clearly liked his gift. He very nearly smiled when he opened it. I suggested that he try it out with one of Philip’s cigars, but he said that would be presumptuous and that he’d never do such a thing without the express permission of the lady of the house.
I’m thinking that it would be amusing if you were to wire him and give him permission.
Mr. Michaels was with his mother today—
she lives near Kew Gardens—but he stopped by this evening unannounced to bring me a small present. I was caught completely off guard and had nothing for him. So forgive me, Emily, I took a copy of the Aeneid from your library, wrapped it in newspaper, and gave it to him. I’ll replace it next week. I’d rather hoped he’d give me a book—the package looked promising—but it was note cards instead. Still, the sentiment, as it were, is appreciated.
I do hope you’ve found some joy this holiday, Emily, and that you’ll be able to come home soon.
Margaret
Chapter 22
I can hardly recall what happened next. Everything swirled around me, pulling me down to murky depths of terror and sadness. The police came, and someone tried to bundle me off to the British Embassy, but I refused, preferring instead to return to the Imperial. I wanted neither to be alone nor in the company of others, and the crowded streets of the city called to me, offering an uneasy sort of anonymous comfort. I asked the sturdy officer who had carefully written down my answers to his questions about finding the body and Harrison’s threats if he would walk me there.
He refused, insisting that we take a carriage. He rode with me back to the hotel, escorting me all the way to my room, where Cécile reached for me the moment she saw my face. I think she spoke to the policeman, but I didn’t particularly notice. I walked over to the window and stared out of it, focusing on nothing. The door closed, the officer was gone, and my friend embraced me.
“Kallista, we must leave this city.”
“I have to find Colin,” I said. I wanted to cry, to scream, something. But all I felt was an enormous void engulfing me. Cécile rang for Meg and Odette and ordered them to begin packing our things.
I did not leave the window.
I didn’t hear Jeremy come in. He’d found Rina curled up at her house, reading a book. She had not sent him the note and was completely astonished to see him. Knowing instantly that he’d been tricked, he returned to the Stephansdom, only to learn that someone had been murdered inside. I hardly heard him speak as he told the story.
My friends did not try to convince me to come away from the window. Eventually, Jeremy pressed a glass of port into my hand, guiding it with his up to my mouth. I drank, but tasted nothing. I handed the glass back to him and dropped into a chair.
“We will leave on the Orient Express tomorrow,” he said, sitting across from me. “Do you know where Hargreaves is? We can send him a wire if you’d like. I’ve no doubt he’ll return before our departure.”
COLIN DIDN’T COME BACK. I had not the slightest idea of where he’d gone—only that he’d traveled by train, wasn’t terribly far from Vienna, and had expected to return before the end of the day. We waited as long as we could, sending our baggage to the station ahead of us and not leaving until we were in danger of missing the train. The last thing I did was write two letters: one to Colin and one to the empress.
The trip was a hideous one. I did not sleep at all, images of Herr Schröder and Harrison’s knife haunting me whenever I closed my eyes. I did not want to know how much worse my dreams would be. I staggered onto the ferry at Calais, and was barely cognizant of anything around me when we arrived at Victoria Station the next morning. The yellow fog was back again, shrouding London in an unholy veil. Margaret was waiting for us at the platform—Jeremy must have wired her—and the moment I saw her, I snapped out of my morose trance.
“Are you all right?” she asked almost before I’d stepped off the train.
“I wouldn’t know how to even begin to answer that question,” I said. “But I’m glad you’re here.” She looped her arm through mine, and we bent our heads together. A silent friend can offer untold comfort. I knew not how to begin to cope with what had happened, only that I could not bear to stop and think about it. Keeping occupied was the only solution. Robert’s trial was fast approaching; I could not let him run out of time. I would focus on him and later think about the rest. Margaret understood this well.
Once outside the station, our party split. Jeremy took a cab to his club while Cécile, and the maids returned to Berkeley Square in my carriage. Margaret and I had other plans: we were going to Windsor to descend unannounced on the estate of the Reynold-Plymptons.
If the lady of the house was surprised to see us, she hid the emotion with the skill of an artisan. She welcomed us into her drawing room, which was filled with souvenirs from the time she and her husband, who had been an ambassador, spent abroad: ivory from India, Egyptian glass bottles, an elaborate Turkish coffee set. On the walls were stuffed and mounted animal heads—the ambassador must be a hunter—most of them African, all of them staring down upon us with looks of reproach.
“What a lovely room,” Margaret said, the corners of her mouth twitching as she tried not to smile. “I understand that you’ve quite a flair for home redecoration.”
“It’s always been a hobby of mine,” Mrs. Reynold-Plympton said.
“I recognized your touch at Beaumont Towers,” I said. “I particularly liked the Merchant of Venice murals in the drawing room.”
She gave me a catlike smile. “You did not come here to discuss the drawing room at Beaumont Towers.”
“No, I did not. You were kind enough to tell me that there was someone else on the dueling field in Vienna with an interest in British politics. Would you please tell me who?”
“Lady Ashton, you know that I, more than anyone, want to see my dear Basil’s murderer brought to justice. But I have looked into this matter of the second—a man for whom I have no personal liking. Regrettably, he was not involved.”
“Tell me his name,” I said.
“It’s irrelevant.”
“I’d still like to speak with him.”
“Emily is incorrigible,” Margaret said. “She’ll never rest unless she finds out for herself. Can’t you humor her?”
“I don’t see what good could come of it.” Her smile was implacable.
“But surely it would lead to nothing bad. I’m not going to accost him in public.”
“I simply don’t see the point,” she said.
“You should have no objection to me wasting my time,” I said.
“You are remarkably persistent, a quality I admire.” She put on a pair of spectacles and peered at me. “I did not much like you when we first met, but I should perhaps excuse your naïveté as a thoroughly unoriginal sin of youth.”
“I admit freely that we started off in a less than desirable manner.”
This made her laugh. “You accused me of having an affair with Robert Brandon.”
Margaret leaned forward in her chair. “I’ve always thought Emily should write fiction. She has such a flair for narrative.”
“Yes, well, I assure you my decision to confront you stemmed from the best of intentions,” I said. “But what has always impressed me about you, Mrs. Reynold-Plympton, is that you have forged for yourself real political power. I can’t think of another lady of my acquaintance who’s managed to do such a thing. It’s common knowledge that Lord Fortescue depended on your advice.”
“An astute observation.” She pulled her shoulders back just a bit and sat taller in her chair.
“And one that should be shared by gentlemen in the government.” I was gambling. Was she sensitive to the fact that the majority of men would have dismissed her expertise?
“Hmpf.” She whipped off her spectacles with a flourish. “We ladies are forced to operate entirely behind the scenes—and that’s unlikely to change in my lifetime.”
“I have…” I paused, smiled, and wrung my hands, hoping that I looked like someone in search of a mentor. “I’ve taken some steps to assist my fiancé in his work. I confess that you’ve been my inspiration. I know I’m an absolute novice, but perhaps someday you and I could combine forces.”
“Are you trying to manipulate me?” she asked.
“No, of course not.”
“Of course you are.” She studied me for a moment and then laughed again. It sounded li
ke music. “I may have just begun to like you, Lady Ashton. It’s possible you would make a useful ally.”
“Will you tell me his name?” I asked.
“James Hamilton. He works in the office of the chancellor of the exchequer and is very likely to be prime minister one day.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m hoping that you’re a more dependable confederate than the typical gentleman. I don’t like being disappointed.”
“You’ve no cause for worry on that count,” I said. “I’m at your disposal should you require my assistance.”
“Of course you are.” She returned her spectacles to her face. “You owe me. I won’t forget that.”
“Can I beg one more favor?” I asked.
“You can beg anything you’d like,” she said.
I told her, as succinctly as possible, about Mr. Harrison’s threats towards Colin. “Lord Fortescue was able to keep him in check. Can you do the same? You don’t have to tell me how, just please, please stop him.”
She shook her head, her eyes lowered. “He never showed me what he had on Harrison. It was too sensitive even for my eyes. I’m sorry. You’ll have to hope your fiancé is capable of avoiding the worst. I know Harrison’s methods well enough to be afraid for you.”
“I NEVER SUSPECTED you ladies of being so debauched,” Jeremy said. “Drinking port in the middle of the afternoon? Hedonistic.”
Margaret and I had returned from Windsor, and we were all in my library at Berkeley Square. Davis had decanted a port for us, and I’d insisted that he returned Philip’s cigars to the room so Margaret could smoke them. He did this not so much because I ordered him to, but because Odette was back in the house. It could never be said that Davis was giddy, but there was an extra crispness in his efficiency today, and I had no doubt what emotion was fueling it.
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